the mine offices.
No wonder the owners were riled up again.
“We found a few menfolk—farmers and salesmen—and two small families on the train. They’ve been put up in the empty miners’ houses on the edge of town,” Creakle said. “A few of the miners doubled up so we had enough room for everyone. But the womenfolk...”
They’d been brought to the hall as a temporary situation, but it was apparent that they would have to stay there for a little while longer. There was no other building large enough to house that many females at once. Unfortunately, that meant that the men who were used to gathering there to play darts or checkers had nowhere else to go.
Jonah followed the direction of the men’s gazes toward the two-story building. Even though the evening was black as pitch, it was easy to see that the women had staked their claim on the frame structure. Soft lamplight painted the street with panes of buttery gold. Due to a lack of curtains, the women had seen fit to make do with what window coverings they could find. The openings were hung with lacy petticoats and brightly patterned shawls, scarves and dresses. Overall, the effect was warm and inviting and fanciful—and certainly more welcoming than the chilly miners’ shacks or the inquisition that awaited Jonah in the main office.
Even worse, now that the men had been drawn to the hall by the feminine sounds, they weren’t inclined to leave, even though there was little hope that they would ever be invited inside. Instead, dressed in their coats and hats and scarves, they pounded their boots to keep warm. But they didn’t talk. There was a nervousness, a giddiness and...a reverence to their vigil—as if they feared the women would disappear in a puff of smoke.
“The men have been at it since they ended their shift,” Creakle offered “By then, they weren’t needed on the hill, so’s they came to gawp at the ladies.”
Which meant Batchwell and Bottoms were probably close to a fit of apoplexy.
Jonah opened his mouth to order the men to return to their quarters, but before he could speak, one of the heavy carved doors to the hall flew open, and there, backlit in the lamplight, was Miss...
No.
Dr. Havisham.
Somehow, she’d found the time to clean herself up. Her face was washed, her clothes were changed and a voluminous apron covered her from hem to neck. She stood for a moment, her hands on her hips, frowning at the shapes she could see in the darkness.
“Get away now! Scat!” She shooed at them with the hem of her apron. “These women don’t need you spying on them like foxes eyeing a henhouse. Go home.”
Finally, the miners began slipping away into the shadows. As soon as the last man had turned away, Dr. Havisham sent a stern gaze in Jonah’s direction.
“Mr. Ramsey.”
Jonah brought his mount up short. He hadn’t been aware that Dr. Havisham could see him in the darkness. He’d been hoping to slip away unnoticed. That way, he could send someone to retrieve the woman and deliver her to the mine offices. Apparently, he wouldn’t escape a confrontation so easily.
“Yes, Miss...” She frowned and he quickly corrected himself. “Dr. Havisham.”
Her disapproving glance could have set fire to a bush at twenty paces.
“I might have expected such rude behavior from the workers, but not of their leader.”
For some reason, the woman’s clipped British accent and lilting cadence softened her reprimand. Jonah opened his mouth to explain that he’d just arrived and that he’d had no part in the silent vigil. But one glimpse of the spots of pink on her cheeks warned him that it would do no good. She had her dander up, that was for sure.
So he lifted his hat instead, murmuring, “Ma’am.”
Her lips pursed, causing a shallow dimple to appear in her cheek. A part of him wondered if that tiny crease would deepen if she laughed.
Dr. Havisham huffed. “I hope you’ll make it clear to your miners that we women aren’t to be stared at like monkeys in a menagerie, Mr. Ramsey.”
He tried not to laugh. She looked quite militant with her arms folded, even when she used that imperious tone and highfalutin words like menagerie. He wondered if she was always like this, quick to battle, eager to defend those she felt were in her care. Unfortunately, some of her bravado was negated by her obvious weariness. Dark shadows lingered under her eyes. A garish bruise made her look vulnerable and fragile. Judging by the number of people they’d pulled from the wreckage with injuries—both major and minor—Jonah wasn’t the only one who’d had a trying day.
“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled in what he hoped was a soothing tone of voice. “The evening Devotional was canceled due to our rescue efforts. There’s a morning Devotional scheduled to take its place when the hoot-owl and the early-bird shifts switch places. I’ll be sure to mention that the Miners’ Hall is off-limits to all the men.”
“Thank you,” she said. Then, since he’d conceded so easily to her argument, some of the starch wilted out of her posture.
Leaving her looking...lost...
Exhausted.
“How are all the passengers?” Jonah asked, somehow loath to see her disappear inside again. Now that her militant stance had eased, he couldn’t help thinking that Sumner Havisham might be considered a handsome woman. She wasn’t pretty exactly. She wasn’t sweet and dreamy with a Cupid-bow’s pout. No, she was sturdy. A little tall for a woman. Unconventional.
But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t turn heads. Especially in the territories where a fragile ingenue wouldn’t last a week.
No, this woman could hold her own.
“Now that I’ve had time to examine everyone pulled from the wreckage, I’m relieved to say that most of them are better off than I’d first believed. We’ve got a half dozen broken bones, lots of bruises and cuts, but no life-threatening injuries. Thankfully, the last of my unconscious patients roused a few minutes ago, which is a good sign. For most of the women and the few remaining crew members still housed in the hall, there’s nothing that some sleep and a good, hot meal won’t cure.”
A good, hot meal.
“I told Stumpy at the cook shack to bring you something.”
“Early this afternoon, a pair of men brought coffee and biscuits. Thank you, Mr. Ramsey. But many of the women were too dazed or upset to eat. There was no evening meal provided, probably because your...chef...was overwhelmed with the task of feeding the men who’d helped in our rescue. I’m sure the women can wait until morning. By then, I imagine their appetites will have completely returned.”
Botheration. Why hadn’t Stumpy sent something to the women when he’d fed the men? The last thing Jonah needed on his hands was a passel of hungry, angry women.
But quick upon the heels of that thought came another dilemma that Jonah hadn’t anticipated when the pass had been blocked. Although the mine stockpiled the necessary staples to see them through the winter, their supplies were made with two hundred hungry miners in mind. If they couldn’t get the stranded passengers through the canyon, their foodstuffs would need to be stretched. Jonah would have to send out a hunting party. And if they couldn’t make up what was lacking that way, they would have to cut the men’s daily allotment.
Which meant hungry miners.
Which meant trouble.
“And what about you, Miss Havisham? Did you take the time to eat?”
Her guilt was so obvious that he felt a tug of protectiveness. One that made him ashamed that he could be so easily swayed by a striking woman. No. Not striking. Inviting? How else would you describe a woman with such soft brown hair, brown eyes—even her dress was brown.
So why did the combination make him feel warm inside?
Jonah resolutely pushed